Chapter 12
GYON
Itaste the metal in my mouth. Sweat burns my eyes. The corridor ahead flickers with distortion—the Maze greets me with electric menace, as though it’s daring me to cross the threshold.
Walls behind me snap with crackling current. I feel their bite even from ten meters away. Drones spit plasma at my heels—green arcs sizzling through the air, lighting up my path with hellish staccato. The hum of motors, the snap of wires, the hiss of static—it all merges into a fight song.
I sprint.
Because every beat of her breath, every whisper of her pulse, is my only compass now.
The corridors shift crazily beneath my feet. I know the cheat lines now—blind shafts, shifting side doors, hidden ventilation gaps. I exploit them. Duck. Climb. Leap. Slide through panels that realign in my wake. The Maze fights dirty, but I fight smarter.
The plasma bolts sizzle past my shoulder. I don’t slow. I barrel through a half-hidden maintenance tunnel, numb to the sparks and shards that slice my coat. The smell of scorched insulation fills my nostrils.
A ceiling panel gives way. I drop, roll, and emerge into chamber light.
There she is.
It’s a trap-reset chamber, walls gleaming as if scrubbed clean, floor panels soft underfoot. She stumbles in the center, arms braced against the walls, breathing hard. Her eyes are wild. Dirt smudged across her cheeks. Hair plastered to her forehead. She’s real.
She pivots when she hears me—turns. Her eyes widen in that moment, and everything stops.
I see her.
Jalshagar—my name for her that feels like destiny.
My blood howls. My heart drums in a warbeat. I roar something, but nothing comes out.
She whispers, tensely, “You’re real.”
Gods. Just that. Simple. Truth condensed to two fragile words.
In that instant I’m falling toward her—gravitational pull I never believed in—arms stretching.
But then, Borzen.
He’s behind her in a tortured dance, arm outstretched, dragging her back. A weapon leveled at me. His face contorts with anger, fear, duty. Weapon glows with charge.
“Don’t come closer!” he bellows.
Her breathing catches. She twists, fights the pull of me. The connection writhes between us like a live wire.
I stop. I don’t walk another inch. I should kill Borzen. I should rend the wall and empty the room. But she’s between us.
I dare not.
A moment later, the walls shift.
Panels slide, corridors split. The floor splits. The chamber elongates, pushing us apart like two stars torn by gravity. The geometry warps. My fist scrapes the new wall between us—metal that wasn’t there seconds before.
Still, I keep my eyes locked on hers.
She stumbles backwards. Borzen pins her against the wall, breathing hard, weapon close to her side.
I shift forward, muscles coiled. “Let her go!” I thunder.
He doesn’t. The tension tightens.
Then the Maze moans. The walls shift again, diverting Borzen’s angle, opening a narrow corridor behind him. It throws him off balance. Her side loosens. She slips, stumbles—one step toward me.
I take that step. Just one.
The wall between us warps in a shimmer.
She sees me. I see her. Everything screams with meaning. The connection solidifies.
I roar—a sound of claim, not fury. A cry that burns down every fake partition, every circuit, every piece of architecture trying to keep us apart.
Her lips part, tears in her eyes. She reaches out. The flame of something unspoken burns there.
Then the corridor snaps shut—walls grind, doors slam, light flicks. The moment is erased.
I stand at the barrier, breathing heavy. The glow from her silhouette through the glass—even that is fading.
Borzen crouches behind her, muttering threats, guarding her like a lion guards a cub. She presses a hand to the wall between us.
I taste ozone, sweat, blood. The Maze hums below us, furious.
I whisper, just to her, just to the wall, “I will cross this. I will break this. I will have you.”
Her eyes flick once—raw hurt, recognition, something fierce—and then vanish as the chamber resets.
I don’t move right away. I stay pinned to the wall, knuckles raw where my claws raked the metal. The Maze pulses under my skin. The afterimage of her face lingers, like a brand.
I step back, breathing ragged, and let the walls swallow the corridor.
The Maze thinks it's won.
But it hasn’t.
Because now she knows I’m real.
And now, I will never stop.